I know, I know – two entries in one day, but this one warrants it as it relates to a phonecall I took this afternoon. For reasons too complicated to go into, we decided to put our property on sale with a residential agent rather than a commercial agent to see if we could stir up some interest in a sale. The assessment of the property was good, but the valuer suggestion we drop our price so that it fell below the Stamp Duty bracket and would give us better leverage.
Well, we had an offer a while back but for whatever reasons it fell through. No big deal, there are plenty of fish in the sea, but the little turd I’m dealing with at the estate agents said to me at the end of the call back then that we should drop our price significantly to generate more interest. I politely said I wasn’t interested and terminated the call in a hurry.
Today, the little turd called again and began his gambit like this:
Mr X: Hi, it’s Mr X from the agency. How are you today?
Me: I’m fine thanks. Yourself?
Mr X: You’re not bored?
Me: No? Why would I be?
Mr X: I am, anyway…
So already the little shit had already put me in a slightly wary mood. There’s something I don’t trust about the guy and my instincts are usually right. So he says:
Mr X: What if I say I’ve got an offer of (insert stupidly low figure here)?
Me: I’d want £10k more than that
Mr X: So you’d be willing to accept (stupidy low figure + 10K)?
Me: No. I want more money than that.
You see, I’ve dealt with enough estate agents in the past to know that you set your price and if anyone is interested you negotiated downwards to a figure acceptable to both parties – not start at your absolutely minimum base figure because the only point from there is further down.
The little shit starts bending my ear about this that and the other and I tell him to stop talking, and to start doing his job and to bring people to my door who actually have the money, rather than the jokers who came along before who didn’t have their finance in place and took six fucking long weeks to realise that they are broke. But the turd keeps on jabbering about lowering my price and whatever bollocks justification he has.
Eventually, I tell him to stop talking to me in such a fashion otherwise I’ll take my business elsewhere. I mean this is the first time I’ve ever been brow-beaten by a fucking shitty little estate agent. The conversation ends along the lines of:
Mr X: Do you want my professional opinion?
Me: Not now…now let’s stop this conversation here while I can still be civil and polite to you and let’s leave it there.
Then I hung up on him. But the turd really tried my patience and I remember why I used to get chosen to field all the crank calls in one of my old jobs, because it seems I am very good at talking to complete fucking tools without swearing at them.
The jumped up little cunt…

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